Salvation: Episode I - The Taking of the Carmenta Illustria

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is part of an episodic series taking place after Salvation: A Half-Life/Mass Effect Universe Fan Fiction, which will lead directly to its sequel, Salvation II: Project Prometheus. These episodes and sequel take place OUTSIDE of the Mass Effect 3 continuity. Characters property of their respective companies, Half-Life created by Valve and Mass Effect created by Bioware.

Chapter 14: A Gallery of Fools

“Okay...” Leahr'Haan dubiously began, swallowing at something knotted in his throat, as he watched a few blips on his laptop's holographic screen. “The mechs are starting to disperse throughout the various decks of the ship. Standard patrol protocols...” He paused for a remorseful sigh. “Live ammunition... All online, and fully functional. Except for the YMIR, of course.”

“Wait, you have a YMIR mech?!” Commander Kim pressingly queried, as he and Tarrik stood behind the seated quarian, near the bridge forward windows, looking on.

“Yeah, it's... back on the cargo ship.” Leahr explained, swiveling around in his seat.

“What? Why's it back there?!” Kim demanded to know. “Activate it. A YMIR could be just what we need if Shepard's on-board.”

“I can't...” The quarian contritely admitted. “Especially not from up here, it's not even on my network...”

“Yes...” Tarrik brashly interjected, with a hissing breath, and a heavy tinge of dissatisfaction in his voice. “Unfortunately, despite my misplaced faith, and overwhelming support, Leahr was unable to render the motorized brute completely operational...”

“So it's just sitting down there...?!” The one-eyed Commander frustratedly entreated, as Leahr slouched down in his seat, and shook his already bowed head. “A two-ton paper weight...”

“It works!” Leahr suddenly rebutted, in an outburst, sounding both angry and despondent. “All it's systems are online, except navigation and guidance... Without those, it won't be able to find it's way around the ship. It'd just walk into walls everywhere. And it would take hours to upload the necessary programming, so I just left it on sentry mode. I WOULD'VE had it all done...” He continued to elaborate, as he turned to glare at the stout volus. “Except I got the call from Tarrik a month early.”

“Argh, forget it...!” Kim griped, and rolled his eyes, as he grabbed a datapad hanging off the console, at which Leahr'Haan was seated. “Just plot us a course to the nearest mass relay, and get us there...” He ordered, as he turned his attention to the datapad, and began to walk away from the front of the bridge. “The sooner we're out of Citadel Space, the better...”

“Commander Kim!” Tarrik called out, as he turned to follow the fog-eyed head of security. Meanwhile, Leahr swiveled his chair back around, towards the bridge's primary control terminal, and remorsefully began to carry out his mandate.

“The mechs have been deployed, but I still strongly suggest you put your team on full alert, at once.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hold your horses...!” Kim scorned, wrinkling his brow with a look of annoyance on his face, as he began working the datapad.

“...My what?”

“I wanna verify something before I panic my entire crew over what could be nothing.” He stated, as he summoned some sort of list on the datapad. “I don't exactly trust Tylan's word...” He admitted, as he briefly looked down at Tarrik. “The guy could be on Red Sand or something, for all I know... For god's sake the idiot thought he was seeing Gordon Freeman, after all...”

“And you're still so sure he wasn't...?” Tarrik skeptically imposed, as he tilted his head, and placed both hands on his rounded hips.

“Positive.”

---

“D'you find anyone?!” A shouting voice spilled into the duct from the outside, echoing with a metallic oscillation, within the long, aluminum shaft.

Still at the fore of the small band of stragglers, Dr. Freeman crept forward, inching along at a laggard pace so as to avoid making any noise that could incite detection. Behind him, the lavishly dressed Miranda Lawson, and the fidgety nerved Cameron McClane still followed along closely, at the pace he had set – but with the voices echoing from the room just below them, they were careful as mice not to make a sound.

It seemed much colder now. Perhaps a result of the continued exposure to the frigid air breezing through the vent shaft. Their hands and faces were like ice, and numbing. And the cold, metal surface of the vent wall stung Miranda's bare shoulders, like needles, each time she couldn't avoid contact with it.

But despite the increasingly bitter cold, which would no doubt prove to be the most benign of all the obstacles they'd face this day, they pressed on. Up ahead, where the shaft split into a T, the ceiling of the narrow, cramped duct was painted in horizontal stripes of yellowish light, shinning up from a small grate. A grate which was also the source of the voices echoing in from the room below.

“Nah, this room's all clear.” A second voice shouted in response, as Gordon crept up to the edge of the grate, and peeked down through one of the slits.

He couldn't make out too much from his vantage point, which was situated about twenty-feet above the room. Just the tops of the heads of what looked like two human security guards, judging by the black tufts of hair on their scalps, and the navy blue uniforms trimmed in gold that they wore. The room appeared to be a small bar or day lounge. There was a narrow counter, and a number of plush, comfortable looking seats, positioned around small tables in the near vicinity.

“Well, let's move on to the next one, then.” The first officer suggested, as he began to walk out of Gordon's field of view.

“Screw that. Let's take a break...!” The second one insisted, as he turned and walked around the narrow counter, slightly out of Gordon's sight. “I worked a full shift today before we took the ship, I need a drink. How 'bout you?”

“Eh, sure. Why not?” The first guard submitted, with very little reluctance, as he stepped up to the bar, and back into Gordon's sight. “I could use a drink. It's been dead on this deck anyway, I'm pretty sure we got everyone. Get me a... double shot of batarian ale.”

“Get it yourself, I ain't your bartender!” His cohort admonished jokingly, hiding truth behind his ruse.

“...Asshole.”

Both of them now stepped behind the bar, and searched through it's selection, for their drink of choice. The sound of glass bottles clinking together came, as they sifted, like scavengers, through the bar's inventory, until finally finding what they each sought – indicated by the twin hiss of two caps being twisted off.

“What do you see...?” Miranda very softly questioned, as she rested behind Gordon, listening in.

“Small bar...” Gordon lightly whispered back, subtly turning his head, though keeping his eyes peering through the grate. “Looks like just two guards... It's too high to drop down from here, we should keep mov...”

“So when we're done here--” The voice of one of the corrupt officers chimed in again, interrupting Gordon, and causing him to listen in once more. “--we're just gonna let these people go? Just like that...?”

“Who said anything about letting 'em go???”

“The volus did...” The querying officer acknowledged, as the two continued their exchange, while sharing a drink - completely heedless to the presence of the three eavesdroppers high above. “He said once they gave up their accounts, they'd be free to go... Seems kinda stupid, doesn't it? I mean they're witnesses. They can ID us. And even in the Terminus, some of 'em are bound to have powerful friends...”

“Guess I was right about them heading for the Terminus systems...” Miranda whispered, listening, as she rested on her crossed arms, behind Gordon, to which he simply concurred with a subtle, foreboding nod.

“Idiot... He had to tell 'em that!” The other guard chided, as the two stood leaning carefree against the bar, knocking back the drinks in their hands. “What do you think they'd all do if they found out we were selling 'em to the batarians?”  

“Batarians...?” Gordon queried in a low whisper, as he turned his head slightly to look back towards Miranda.

“Slavers...” She submitted, shaking her head with an angry scowl.

“Oh my god...” Cameron's appalled, muffled whisper followed.  

“We're selling 'em to the batarians...?” The other corrupt officer questioned – sounding surprised, but not displeased, as the idle chatter continued below.

“Yeah, where've you been...?! There's a batarian cruiser waiting for us on the other side of the relay. Soon as we go through, they board, take hold of the passengers, and we live out the rest of our days as kings of the galaxy...!”

“Heh, I like that part...!” His compatriot blithely declared. “But what about the ones that aren't any good as slaves? The ones that can't work like the little kids, and the old fossils?”

“Hell, the four eyes'll pay double for kids...! Get more years out of 'em, and easier to get 'em into the life early. As for the geezers, I dunno... I guess we'll just have to put 'em down. Either way, Commander Kim said there'd be no loose ends left. And we're milkin' this thing for all it's worth...! Heheheh....” “Heheheh....”

Gordon sneered, and furrowed his brow in anger, disgust, and contempt. He ground his teeth, and his icy chilled hands balled up into tight, bare knuckled fists, as the two below him shared a hearty, revolting laugh at their own debauchery, while clinking their bottles together in a toast.

“So what are ya gonna do when you get your share...?”

“I dunno... I was thinking I'd t...”

“HEY!” The loud, angry shriek of a new, female voice suddenly pierced the air, from somewhere out of Gordon's view, interrupting the two officers' leisurely repose. They immediately stood upright, leaving their bottles resting on the bar counter, as they both turned to look out in the same direction.

“What are you two doing?” The same voice demanded, sounding a little lower, but still exhibiting the same authoritarian tone. Just then, the top of a blue, fringed head, obviously belonging to an asari, stepped into Gordon's sight. “Is this room cleared yet?”

“Uh... Yeah, this one's all clear.” One of the human officers uneasily answered. “We were just... takin' a quick break, that's all...”

“Well get back to work like the rest of us...!” The asari demanded, shaking a demeaning finger back and forth at the two humans. “We've still got this entire deck to sweep! Commander Kim wants us reporting that that ship is cleared of stragglers as soon as possible. And if he finds out that you two are slacking off, he'll have all our asses in a sling...!”

“Alright, alright, we're going...!” One of the human guards submitted compliantly, though sounding a fair bit irritated, as the asari turned around and wandered out of sight. Just then the second guard leaned closer to his accomplice, and muttered something inaudible under his breath.

“I HEARD THAT!” The angered asari yelled irately, from somewhere nearby.

“I-I said 'RICH'...!” The human mutterer tried to appease, as he and his compatriot malefactor both made their way out of the room, in the same direction the asari had gone. “'Rich!' As in 'we're gonna be rich!'”

“...So slavery still exists here.” Gordon solemnly whispered, as he continued to peer down through the grate at the now empty lounge.

“Unfortunately, yes...” Miranda affirmed in a sombre tone. “And once they've taken hold of these people, they'll take them back to a slaver colony where they'll be branded, drugged, implanted with control devices, and sold throughout the Terminus Systems...”

“What kind of galaxy is this...?!” Gordon sneered through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his voice down. “We fought to stop the things that would enslave entire races... And they're doing it to each other?!”

“...The slave trade is a major part of the batarian caste system...” Cameron unexpectedly supplemented, from her place behind Miranda – a dreary timbre in her voice, as she laid rubbing her hands together for warmth. “The Council's stand on anti-slavery is considered one of the many reasons that the batarians left their embassy, and severed diplomatic ties with the Citadel... It's so deeply rooted into their culture, that to them these won't be people... They'll just be a profitable acquisition...”

Gordon said nothing in response to the information presented to him. He simply laid there for a moment, resting his forehead on the back of one of his hands, as his eyes listlessly flicked back and forth, while the light from the grate painted his face with stripes.

Just then, there was a sudden, but subtle shift in inertia, as a very light, almost indistinct hum began to resonate from somewhere deep within the bowels of the grand ship.

“What's that...?” Cameron beckoned when she felt the delicate motion, and heard the gently muffled sound.

“The engines...” Miranda responded with a tinge of concern, as she turned her eyes upward, and tuned her hearing. “The ship's moving again... We're running out of time, we should get going.”

As she spoke, Gordon simply stared down through the slits of the grate heedlessly. Suddenly, something manifested itself before his eyes... Something that was part memory, part imagination, and part deja vu... There below him, in a nondescript corridor, stood two soldiers armed to the teeth, wearing black and white military camo fatigues.

“I killed twelve dumb ass scientists, and not one of 'em fought back... This sucks!”

“Gordon...?” Miranda queried worriedly, when she took note of the non-responsive physicist.

Gordon's eyes grew angry, as he stared down at the apparition from his past. The specter of those who would so willingly destroy the lives of others, for profit or pleasure, with little to no regard...

“...Gordon?”

“This can't happen...” He suddenly declared in a cold, determined voice. With a blink of his eyes, he looked back down at the room, and it was once again converted to nothing more than a vacated luxury lounge. Gordon rolled to his side in the duct, turning back and looking towards Miranda. “We stop this ship before it hits that relay... No matter what...”

“I'm with you.” Miranda nodded, presenting Gordon with a tender, reassuring smile. “Where to from here?”

“Well...” Gordon began again with a bit of a sigh, as he turned back around to face forward, where their current path split into a T. “We're at a juncture... We can go either right or left.” He explained, as he looked back and forth between both darkened paths, like someone preparing to cross a street. “I have no idea where we are on this ship, but the right side slopes downward... The engine room would most likely be on the lower levels, correct?”

“Correct.” Miranda confirmed.

“Then right's as good a guess as any, I suppose...” He ambivalently affirmed, breathing a dubious sigh under his breath.

He cautiously stretched his arm across the grate, and planted his palm on the other side, in the entrance of the downward leading, right-hand ventilation passage. He followed up by carefully bridging his entire body across, being prudent not to place any amount of excess weight on the grate itself, whose structural limits were unknown. As soon as he began to turn towards the right side opening, the icy breeze whistling through the vent shaft intensified, as a frigid gust blew against his face. He had to work a little harder now, maintaining pressure onto his hands so as not to lose friction's grip, and slide in. It wasn't a steep angle – perhaps a slight thirty degree slant, maybe less. But it was enough to feel gravity's burden.

“Watch your step here...” Gordon advised, as he inched his way forward, and down. “Careful not to put all your weight on the vent when you cross.”

“Brrrr-It's so c-cold!” Cameron, their meek reporter companion exclaimed, as a blast of cold air was funneled in her direction, after Miranda made her way through.

“Yep... This takes me back.” Gordon offered up with a smack of his lips, sounding none too enthusiastic. “A pleasant sixty-eight degrees, my foot...!”

---

“Bah!” A turian officer griped, as he rummaged through the drawers of a dresser in one of the lavish, first-class staterooms.

His face was light brown in color, and both his mandibles, and the fringes on the back of his head were marked with streaks of white, while a pronounced stripe of deep red ran down the bridge of his nose, and the center of his face, dividing it in two.

Garments flew, as he sifted through them, and tossed them aside, after finding nothing of value. He carried a plain, black duffel bag, which hung at his side by a strap that was strewn across his chest to his shoulder. The mouth of the bag was unzipped, and hung open – no doubt to provide easy placement of any prized trinkets or valuables he might come across. The floor of the vacated room was littered with clothing and clutter now – everything from lush evening attire to seductive sleep wear, to the drawers of the dressers and wardrobes themselves, as the antsy guard would yank them out whole.

With his search of the vanity dresser proving less than fruitful, the turian then turned his attention to a mounted wall safe, the kind of which were not uncommon in rooms such as these, on the adjacent wall. With a covetous glint in his eyes, he materialized his omni-tool, raised it, and placed his palm flat against the safe's red holographic input panel. Immediately, the the orange ring of light encompassing his hand began to spin back and forth, almost like the movements of a combination lock being undone. Within a matter of seconds, the holographic panel under his hand changed from a dissuading red, to an inviting green, giving him license to pull his hand away, and dematerialize his omni-tool. He reached up, pulled the handle, and the safe swung open with ease.

“Whew...!” He exhaled an elated sigh, and his face lit up with an indulgent gleam, as he beheld the reinforced safe cavity, bursting with valuables. “Jackpot...!”

Immediately in front of him, at the edge of the safe, were a number of credit chits, stacked up in a nice, tidy column. These were miniature devices, a bit smaller than twentieth-century credit cards, that could be endowed with varying monetary sums. Behind the small tower of chits, was a plethora of boxes and cases, lined with gold trim, and covered in a velvety finish – just the kind of boxes that were known to house precious jewels.

With an excessive eagerness, the turian held up his opened duffel bag, and scooped all the credit chits in with a single, sweeping motion of his arm. He then proceeded to remove one of the larger, black velvety cases, and quickly split it open. Sparkling with the radiance of a sky bejeweled by celestial twilight, a gleaming necklace, and matching pair of earrings, both encrusted with flawless diamonds, and precious rubies, sat on a pillow of mother-of-pearl silk bedding.

With a self-indulgent grin on his face, he quickly snapped the case shut, began yanking out every other box and case within the safe, and stuffed them into his bag – satisfying his greed, at least for the moment.

With the wall safe now completely purged of its treasures, the treasonous turian officer turned to make for the exit. But before leaving, something on the nightstand beside the bed caught his eye. As he approached it, he found it to be a magazine. On the cover, was a sultry, seductive, turian woman, laying disrobed, and sopping wet upon an exotic, alien beach, with her legs crossed, and one arm draped across her bare chest, as she held her opposite finger on the lower tip of her mouth. She had a bowed, narrow-eyed siren's gaze, which seemed to bewitch, and beguile, as her bare flesh glistened with the moisture of the waves washing ashore around her.

“Well, hello...!” The turian guard muttered in delight, as he quickly snatched up the publication, and began flipping through the pages, as he turned and made his way out of the room.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm...!” He let forth a lascivious series of hums. His eyes grew hungry, and keen, as he stepped out into the center of the Vista Deck main corridor.

“Hey, Cooke...!” He called out, into the room just opposite of the one he had emerged from, with his eyes still glued to the provocative imagery. “Cooke, come here a second.”

“...What?” A human male inquired, as he stepped out from the room. He was somewhere in his early to mid thirties, with signs of thinning, black hair, and a thick five o'clock shadow around his jawline. He wore a matching, blue, security uniform, despite the fact that the symbolism represented by the badge pinned on his chest had long since been shamelessly betrayed. And much like the turian, he also carried an open duffel bag at his side, slowly being filled with products of their avarice.

“Check it out.” The turian insisted, with a vulgar grin on his face, as he positioned himself beside his human accomplice. “This month's issue of Fornax...!” He declared, as he held the magazine out in front of them – turning it sideways and allowing the pages of the centerfold to drop down, and reveal themselves in their erotic entirety.

“Oooh...!” He expressed emphatically, raising his eyebrows, as he held the magazine up, stretching the pages out completely with his hands, to eliminate the creases. “...How'd you like to explore HER uncharted space?”

Only for a moment was the human's attention captivated by the titillating publication, as his eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, before a shifty look overtook them.

“What're you, in high school...?! Gimme that!” He admonished demandingly, before he swiftly reached up, and snatched the magazine out of the turian's hands, leaving him standing with his hands still held up, completely dumbfounded. “We got work to do!”

“Well, sor-ry. Shit...” The turian scornfully retorted, as he turned away and waved a disparaging hand at his less than chummy human cohort. “Just thought you'd like to give your eyes a treat. My mistake...”

Cooke simply rolled his eyes, and shook his head, clutching the magazine in one hand, while the turian proceeded into the next room down the hall, to continue his plundering. The instant he watched his accomplice disappear into the room, the human covertly raised the spicy magazine back up, and deceitfully began to indulge in his own, private viewing.

No sooner had his eyes become glued to sensuous alien curves, than a faint sound in the distance unexpectedly drew his attention. He looked up, raising a perplexed eyebrow, as the obscured sound of music seemed to be coming from somewhere near the far end of the hall. Quickly closing the magazine, and rolling it up in his hands, he drew his sidearm, and slowly proceeded forward to investigate. The further he advanced, the more distinct the sound of music became, which turned out to be none other than the theme song from a long running television show...  

“Huah! Bad guys! Where you gon... Where you gon... Where you gonna go?!”
“When it's time to reap what you sew...?!”
“...Tell me!”
“Where you gonna go...? Where you gonna go-oh!”
“Ye-ah!”
“Bad guys, bad guys, where you gonna go? Where you gonna go when they're at your door?”
“Bad guys, bad guys, where you gonna go? Where you gonna go when they're at your door...?!”

As the human officer reached the room, and began to turn in, with his weapon brandished, he could see the bright, colorful flicker of a turned on holovision screen, pulsating with the vibrant flashes of red, and blue.

“C-SEC is filmed on location with the men and women of Citadel Security...! All suspects are innocent until proven guilty before a Citadel Tribunal.”

Cautiously entering the empty sitting room foyer, and turning to step into the bedroom, where the lights and sounds were coming from, he was suddenly stunned by the sight he found. There before him, sitting up in the unmade, king-sized bed, with her omni-tool pointed towards the HV, was a small framed, voluptuous figured quarian, donned in an exquisite, violet colored, silken evening dress.

“Oh...!” She exclaimed, feigning genuine surprise, once she noticed him. “I... don't remember ordering room service...”

“Uhm...” The officer uttered, with a furrowed brow and a dumbfounded countenance, before continuing. “...Alright, lady. I don't know how you got left behind--” He said, keeping his weapon drawn on the quarian. “--but you're coming with me... Get up, come on. Let's go.”

“Oh, I'm not going anywhere...” Tali retorted, with a menacing cheerfulness, as she suddenly raised her opposite hand, which she had buried in the jumbled bed sheets, revealing a handgun of her own, which she swiftly aimed back at the human guard. “Not sure about you, though...”

Suddenly, before he could even react to the situation in any manner, the guard felt a sharp pain shoot through his fingers, as something powerful rushed up behind him, and twisted the gun out of his grip. The same force then jerked his head back, and covered his mouth tightly, before he could make a sound. All in one frightfully fast motion.

“Mmm...! Mmph! Mmmph!” Cooke let forth a series of panicked, muffled whimpers, as he felt the cold barrel of his own gun suddenly press against the side of his head.

“Shhh-Shhh-Shhh-Shhh...!” Shepard hissed quietly, urging silence, while keeping his strong left hand securely drawn over the guard's mouth, and holding a gun firmly to his temple, with his right.

Officer Cooke writhed and squirmed only for a second, before he was overcome with a petrified tranquility – his wide open eyes darting back and forth like a metronome.

“Do you wanna live...?” John impassively questioned, keeping his prisoner solidly restrained, as Tali nonchalantly stood up off the bed, before him. “Nod if you wanna live...”

“Mmmph...” The traitorous officer hesitated for a moment, perhaps overcome with dread, as beads of sweat began to condense on his forehead, before he finally acknowledged the question, and nodded his head several times, adamantly.

“Good.” Shepard affirmed agreeably. “Then listen to me very carefully... I'm gonna pull my hand away from your mouth... And when I do, I want you to tell me how many of you there are on this deck. How many of your buddies...”

“Now if you lie to me... Or try to call for help...” He continued, inciting a clacking sound, as he clicked the safety off of the pistol, and jabbed it a bit harder into the side of the officer's head. “You have my word that I will not hesitate to burn you down... I will kill you right here on the spot, and then finish up with your friends.” He explained, whispering through his clenched teeth, in a cold, deadpan voice. “You understand...? Nod if you understand...”

Again, he hesitated for only a moment, before clenching his eyes shut, and rapidly nodding in cowardly desperation. Shepard could hear his whimpering breaths, and feel him tremble under his hands. Obviously, here was a man that had never really seen mortal peril – a man never before faced with the potential cessation of his own life, despite the willingness to destroy the lives of countless others.

“Alright, then... Quietly now...” He advised, as he slowly began pull his hand off of Cooke's mouth, and placed his arm loosely around his neck. “How many...?”

As soon as his lips were free, the panic stricken human guard began inhaling and exhaling rapidly through his mouth – a sign of his own fear.

“Uh... Uh-Wuh-One...!” He expelled, stuttering, and breathing heavily, as the Commander continued to hold the officer's standard issue handgun to the side of his head. “Ju-Just one other guy, besides me...! Rykus. A turian!”

“It's just you two...?!”

“Yeah...” He continued, in a throaty, trembling voice. “J-just two of us on looting duty, on each of the passenger decks. Th-There's a couple of crews doing thorough sweeps of the ship, but they're not here yet. And most of the others are on the deck with the hostages...”

“Hmm...” Shepard muttered pensively, while still restraining the human officer tightly. Tali had since taken a guarded position behind the bedroom doorway, should any unexpected surprises arise.

“Alright...” John began again, in a placated tone. “I believe you.”

“W...What're you gonna do with me???” The nervous officer beckoned, shifting his eyes from side to side.

“Nothing yet.” The Commander casually asserted. “But I want you to call him...”

“...W-What?”

“Your partner...” He elaborated, tightening his grip a bit around Cooke's neck. “Call him in here... Pretend nothing's wrong and call him in, as if you need his help with something...”

“And then you'll let me go...?! Ack...!”

The officer spoke up with a sudden eagerness, before Shepard quickly squeezed tightly on his neck, momentarily restricting his air intake, and forcing him to gag a little. “You just do as you're told, and then we'll see.” The Commander ordered stringently, showing little compassion for his prisoner, and rightfully so.

“Argh! Alright-alright!” Cooke agreed, in a coarse, froggy voice, with little alternative, as he found himself barely able to breath.

Having received his submission, Shepard loosened his grip around the corrupt guard's throat, just enough to allow him to vocalize clearly.

“Ugh-Ahem...” Cooke began, first clearing his throat of the rough, chalky sensation still lingering. “Uh... H... Hey Rykus...! Rykus!” He called forth, loudly.

A moment later, an echoing voice shouted in response, from somewhere down the hall. “...What?!”

“Hey, Co-come here a minute! Uh... I-I got something I need your help with!”

Fearing for his life, Cooke panted nervously, as he waited for a response, while sweat dripped off his forehead, and dotted the carpet.  

“Yeah, yeah. Hang on, I'm coming.” The acknowledgment finally came.

“Whew, there...” The captive officer stated, under a heavy sigh of relief. “He's coming...”

“You've been very cooperative.” Shepard assured.

Just then, he withdrew the pistol away from the side of Cooke's head, and suddenly... THWACK! He slammed the barrel down hard on the back of the officer's skull, sending him careening to the floor, face down, with a thud.

Rykus sifted through the duffel bag at his side, with a big grin on his face, at the considerable haul he'd already managed to procure, while casually strolling down the long, elegant corridor to see what his partner in crime needed of him.

“Okay, what is it Cooke?” The turian officer petitioned, as he approached the entrance of the stateroom that he was sure he'd heard his human accomplice's voice originate from. “Where are you...? What do you want?” He asked, as he placed his arms on either side of the entryway, and leaned in for a peek.

“Cooke...?” He continued to address, sounding a bit more concerned now after not receiving an initial response, as he warily stepped in, and looked around. “You in here...?”

“Cooke!” He abruptly shouted out, suddenly noticing the laid out officer on the bedroom floor, when he peered into the adjoined room.

“What the hell happened to you?!” He beseeched, as he darted in.

“I did!” A sturdy voice unexpectedly declared from behind the turian, startling him, and causing him to spin around with a jerk, only to be met with the ever so brief glimpse of Commander Shepard's piston-like right fist hurdling towards his face, just before the crunch... and the fade to black...

---

It was quiet back on the bridge... At least for the time being. Leahr'Haan sat silently at the foremost station, succumb by the plague of his own thoughts, as he watched the stars streak by outside the windows, like blurs of light. The windows were surrounded by a light blue glow, generated by the enveloping of the ship in a mass effect field, as it traveled at speeds faster than light.

And as he watched the stars – their brilliant reflections painted on his faceplate – part of him mourned for a life that had been lost... Not any on-board this ship, but rather his own... His own life had been lost, and he knew this. For he was now determined to see this mission through to fruition – or to his own death. And seeing this mission through to success, would mean the destruction of thousands of lives, and the forsaking of any remnant of his own soul...

But it didn't matter anymore... “Keelah Se'lai....” were the only words that resounded in his mind now, as though they were whispered to him by the ancestors themselves. “By the homeworld I hope to see one day... By the homeworld I MUST see one day...!”

And so he mourned in silence... Because now, whether or not he'd lose his life here, he'd already sold his soul.

And while the lone quarian sat in tormented contemplation, the other occupants of the bridge weren't handling the situation quite as serenely. The two salarians who formerly stood as sentries, by the door, were gone now. Perhaps sent on a lackey's errand. Or more likely sent out to aid with the patrol, as a result of the latest developments.

Kargas, the burly, powerful leader of the ship's mercenary element, took to pacing around at the rear of the bridge. But it wasn't fear that had gripped him, or even concern. It was an anxiousness. Or to put it bluntly, a blood-lust... Like a starving, ravenous shark trying to pry it's way into a submerged cage, to feast on the scuba diver inside. So close, and yet so desperately unreachable...

Near the center of the bridge, in the small aisle between the inert, unmanned consoles, stood the cyclopean head of security, Commander Andrew Kim. He held a dwindling, lit cigarette pinched between his lips, and he looked somewhat edgy as his eyes scanned over the important looking datapad in his hand.

“Here it is...” He suddenly announced, in a voice drowned with dismay, as he pointed to something on the datapad screen. It was a long list of names, with one in particular brightly highlighted. “God damn it. Right here... 'Shepard, John' on the passenger manifest...”

“You mean you've had this manifest all this time--” Tarrik snidely admonished, while shaking a pudgy finger at the Commander. “--and you still had no idea Shepard was on-board?!”

“The manifest doesn't say his fucking military rank, Tarrik!” Kim snapped back, with a teeth-clenched scowl, causing the volus to apprehensively retract his finger. “It just gives me his name... Do you know how common a name like 'John Shepard' is for humans...?! Look!” He asserted, as he looked back down at the list on the datapad. “Here's another one... 'Jon Sheppard', spelled J-O-N, and with two P's in Sheppard... Oh and look... We got a 'Jean Shepard', and a 'Johnny Shepardson'... Ooh, here's an interesting one! 'Jontin Shaperdus'... No way that's human...”

“You think this is a game?!” Kargas' deep, bellowing voice suddenly snarled, as he stomped up towards the Commander in a huff.

It wasn't a reaction of fear that the enraged krogan incited in the human head of security, but rather a sense of keen apprehension, as he cautiously placed his hand on his holstered weapon, and left it there, while confronted by the krogan.

“We have, on this ship, the most dangerous man in the galaxy...!” Kargas continued, his warm, rancid breath whisking against Kim's face with every word, causing him to recoil and face away. “And you think to face him with a gallery of fools!”

“Fools?!”

“That's right, fools...!” The rabid krogan asserted, taking another commanding step toward's Kim, thus causing him to grip the handle of his sidearm tighter. “How well do you think your little police force is going to fare against the man who stopped the Reapers?!”

“...Look.” Kim began, taking a calm, but stoic demeanor, as he locked eyes with the krogan, standing face to face with him, with a bolstered stance, and his hand on his gun, showing no sign of backing down. “I don't know what this beef you've got with Shepard is, that's got you so crazy... But your fight's with him, not me Karg... So I suggest you calm down... and back off...!”

“Is that a threat...?!”

“No, it's advice!” Kim retorted, snarling through his clenched teeth, with his hand still firm on the handle of his silvery heavy pistol. “So I suggest you take it, if you know what's good for you...!”

The two stared each other down, without so much as a glint of fear showing in either of their eyes. Kargas clenched his large, tri-fingered hands into a pair of wrecking-ball fists, as he growled under his breath, and snorted through his nose with the guise of a bull ready to gore its victim. Kim ground his teeth - his jaw fluttering from the pressure, as kept a pincer grip on his gun's handle, like a hissing cobra waiting for the moment to strike.

“If I may interject...” A nervous voice offered forth, under the hiss of a respirator, moments before the two brutes could tear into each other. They both turned, and looked down at the diminutive volus standing besides them, wearing a white Captain's cap. “Before the two of you start comparing the sizes of your guns - and I use that term figuratively - I think you BOTH need to calm down... Let's not forget the bigger problem at hand, shall we not...? I'm sure you two can find time to settle your petty squabbles later... AFTER we've apprehended Shepard, and neutralized any other threats on-board...”

“He's got a point, Karg...” Kim quickly acknowledged, with an uneasy sigh – hesitantly releasing the grip on his gun, and leaving it holstered, as he let his hand dangle at his side. “Now's not the time to start turning on each other...”

Kargas' yellow, reptilian eyes narrowed, as he snarled under his breath, giving the semblance of a hungry predator whose meal had just eluded him. Without a single utterance, he simply walked on, pushing past the one-eyed Commander, as if he were pushing through a swinging door, leaving Kim behind somewhat addled, but contented that the altercation didn't escalate any further.

“What the hell is his problem...?” Kim wondered with a whisper, as he watched the burly krogan stroll away, and return to watching the surveillance monitor.

“Kargas simply has a pension for the dramatic.” Tarrik alleged, shaking his head dismissively. “Ignore him. Let's focus on the problem. Now... Back to the passenger manifest. How many of Shepard's people are on-board...?”

“Uh...” Kim stuttered a moment, as he raised the manifest he had forgotten he was holding, back up, and examined it closely. “...I can't tell...” He informed, as he began clicking the datapad screen with his finger. “Their ticket's must've all been purchased separately... But he did book a first-class stateroom for two, with someone...”

“Who...?”

“Doesn't say...” Kim continued to explain, as he exhaled a frustrated sigh. “The stateroom booking list just says 'John Shepard +1'... Could be anyone on this god damned list...”

“Blast...!” Tarrik muttered, with a shake of his head, and a hiss of his breath. Just then, something else occurred to him.

“Wait... Check for the name of that other earth clan...” Tarrik instructed, as he looked back up at Kim. “That uh... Freeman character.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, NO!” The fog-eyed Commander refused, with an adamant outburst. “I already told you, Gordon Freeman's as dead as Julius Caesar...! Unless his fucking ghost is floating around somewhere, he's not on-board this ship!”

“You may not keep up with current events, Commander, but I do... And it so happens that I recall Shepard making a vague mention of someone by the name of 'Freeman', during his acclaimed speech on Earth, last week.” The volus purporting to be Captain elaborated, in a calm, deadpan tone. “So just... check.”

“Argh, fine! If it'll shut you up...” Kim griped, rolling his eyes, as he brought the datapad back up, and began scanning through it with his eyes. “I'm looking... I'm looking...” He uttered in a highly cynical tone, as he skimmed through the long list of names. “Freebury... Freehill... Freemm--” He paused for a moment, choking back his words, as he suddenly came across a name he didn't expect to find. There, brightly highlighted on the datapad in front of him, in bold, orange letters... FREEMAN, GORDON.

“--Mman...” He finished his utterance, as he looked back down towards the volus, with an uneasy look in his eyes.  “Hmph... Okay, fine. There's 'a' Gordon Freeman on here... I'm sure it's a pretty common name too. It doesn't mean that some two-hundred year old, dead war hero's walking around on this ship...”

The hiss of Tarrik's respirator came before his response. “Unless you can be sure of that... I wouldn't take any chances.”

“I'm sure of it.” Kim asserted, with full conviction. “But whatever. Doesn't matter. We know Shepard's here. That's where my focus is right now... I'm putting everyone on high alert...”

“I'd suggest, Commander Kim, that you caution your men not to pursue or engage Shepard, should they spot him...” Kargas' deep, powerful voice unexpectedly interjected, causing both Kim and Tarrik to look towards the krogan, who simply spoke up, without actually taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him.

“What...?” Kim beckoned, perplexed, as he took a few short steps towards Kargas – stopping a few feet behind him. “...Why not?”

“Your men aren't trained to handle a situation like this...” Kargas declared, as his eyes panned back and forth between the various security feeds on the large screen before him. “What did they get...? A two day crash course in security training...? Detect, deter, and report? Something like that?”

“Hey, now wait a minute...”

“No...” The krogan placidly continued – finally turning his head to look back at his one-eyed accomplice. “It's good. Let them report it... Tell them any stragglers that they may spot are to be considered extremely dangerous... Should they come across any, warn them not to pursue... not to engage... Simply stop, and radio for back-up. Because I promise you Commander, if they don't... they'll end up just like every other person, including my own Blood Pack bothers, who thought they could stand up to Shepard as warriors... Dead.”

“You know...” Kim began in response, raising a perplexed eyebrow. “For someone who's really got it out for Shepard... You talk as if you admire him...”

“Hmph...” Kargas chuckled under his breath, before turning his head back towards the screen. “That's because I do.” He stoically affirmed. “I admire his strength... His tenacity... His krogan-like affinity for combat... It doesn't mean I loathe him any less...” He explained – his agitated tone quickly growing resentful and filled with a deep rooted hatred. ”The very MENTION of his name instills the blood-rage within me!” He exclaimed in an outburst of anger, as he leaned forward onto the terminal, and bowed his head in an effort to contain his rage. He paused for a moment, breathing in and out, as he attempted to retain his self-control, with Kim and Tarrik looking on.

“Well, you're getting yourself all worked up over nothing...” The uniformed Commander assured, with a shake of his head, though exhibiting a nervous tinge in his voice. “I told you, Shepard's unarmed and unarmored... We can handle this... As soon as we isolate his location, we simply seal off whatever deck he's on, and trap him...! After that, it's just a matter of figuring out the best way to deal with him...”

“Besides...” He continued - his voice succumb with the ambivalent timbre of a man trying to convince himself, more than his peers. “How do we even know if the bastard isn't just cowering in a hole somewhere...?”

“Shepard...? Cower...?! Puhh...” Kargas scoffed disdainfully at the notion, as he shook his head slowly.

“I'm serious...” Kim continued, now beginning to pace in a small circle, as he looked back and forth between Kargas and Tarrik – perhaps hoping to gain their concurrence. “Look... Except for one of my guys getting a bar stool wrapped around his head by some random passenger in the Nirasha Lounge, and that little fracas with Shepard's crew earlier, it's been pretty damn quiet since we took the ship...”

“And how do you know it wasn't Shepard himself who bludgeoned your man...?” Kargas challenged, never turning to face the Commander, his attention instead still invested on the screen before him.

“Because all the exits were covered.” Kim rebutted. “There was no way out of that room except for getting pushed out with everyone else... It wasn't Shepard. OR Gordon Freeman!” He immediately declared, quickly pointing a finger down at Tarrik. “Before you bring THAT up again...”

“Hmph...” The krogan snickered under his breath, causing his chest to pulse a little. “Well, I hope you'll still be as confident when Shepard bursts through that door behind you, and kills everyone in this room who doesn't have the benefit of tertiary organs, or a redundant nervous system...”

Commander Kim gulped a little, as he instinctively turned to examined the closed, metallic, bridge door leading to the other parts of the ship. He couldn't help himself from imagining the door suddenly flying open to reveal a hardened man donned in dark N7 Marine armor, wielding a blazing assault rifle that mowed down everything in its path.

“The fact that it's been quiet, Commander, is what you should be most afraid of...” Kargas' voice continued – startling Kim a bit, as it was unexpectedly closer now. Kim turned back to find the krogan standing before him. His beastly yellow eyes reflected an elder warrior's wisdom. But also something more... Something depraved...

“Respecting your enemy does not mean underestimating them... You'd do well to remember that...”